The Altar Is Anywhere You Kneel
by CoffeeWithConsequences
Summary: Arthur keeps a strict separation between his work self and his personal self. When he heads out to let off steam after a job, what happens when Eames is the "stranger" he hooks up with? Is it worth breaking the rules?


Arthur had rules. A lot of rules. He knew it made him appear to be even more uptight and unbending than he actually was, but he didn't much care. His rules were there for a reason, and keeping to them made things smoother, simpler, and safer. So he didn't waver. At the top of his list of rules was this: keep your work and personal lives separate.

Arthur kept his work and personal lives so discrete that those with whom he'd worked for years-even Dom, for whom he'd put his whole life on hold-didn't know the address, or even the city, of the place he lived when he wasn't on a job. Nobody knew anything about where he'd come from, about his family, or even his real name. He kept it completely hidden, a whole other identity. Nobody knew when he suffered a wrenching break up with his last boyfriend, or when his father died, or when he became an uncle.

Nobody knew that the minute a job was done and Arthur was sure all the loose ends were neatly tied, he changed his clothes and his hair and his posture and found the closest, raunchiest, loudest, sweatiest, dirtiest place he could. Nobody knew he danced for hours, until he could finally feel the muscles in his neck loosening. Nobody knew he gave hand jobs in bathrooms and blow jobs in alleys and went home with more big, handsome, questionable strangers than he could ever have counted. Arthur was not embarrassed by these things, they simply were, just as the other Arthur, with his suit and his notebooks, simply was. The important thing was that they were distinct, unconnected.

This job was in Chicago. It had been long and cold and frustrating. The extractor was new and had a lot to learn. The architect changed the layout so often it was difficult to remember what one was intended to dream on any given day. The weather was abysmal-Arthur hadn't felt truly warm for weeks.

Then, of course, there was Eames. Since the Fischer job, Arthur had worked with Eames more. Mostly, it was a good thing-with his interest in dream work momentarily rekindled, Eames was the best there was. He was a good thief and a great forger, and a man with enough imagination and experience to figure out a way through just about anything. He was absolutely an asset, and Arthur felt lucky to work with him. But it was also a trial. The constant innuendo, the teasing, the long, quirked lip stares. It was impossible to know, but Arthur was beginning to think there was something to it, that what he had long taken to be just an outgrowth of Eames' general inability to move through the world without flirting with everybody he encountered was, when aimed his direction, something more. It seemed increasingly possible that Eames was actually attempting to come on to Arthur and not just to irritate him. Responding to that, of course, would break the cardinal rule. A rule there for a reason. So Arthur replied with only the dryness for which his work persona was known, and tried hard not to think too much about it.

Twenty-four hours after they exited the mark's head, Arthur was satisfied everything was taken care of. The team had scattered, the money had been wired to the proper accounts, and all of the documentation had been destroyed. Hard drives were wiped and hotel databases hacked. It was all tied up. As he tended to do, Arthur had planned two extra days for himself in Chicago before heading to the next job in Lisbon. He liked to be sure he had sufficient time to deal with anything that came up unexpectedly. This had all gone by the book, though, so he found himself with a completely open evening.

Though he'd worked in Chicago before, Arthur wasn't familiar with Boystown. The rules were similar in most of these places, though, so he was sure he could figure it out. He dressed carefully, looking skeptically at himself in the hotel mirror. His suit and slicked back hair were gone, replaced by skinny black jeans, a tight gray t-shirt, loose curls. "Might as well go all out," he muttered, digging in his shaving kit to find an old kohl liner and expertly rimming his eyes. He looked at himself again. He knew he looked ten years younger than he was, slim and fit. After all this time, after all he'd seen, he could still perfectly play the twink-and he liked to. He slipped the necessities out of his wallet and into his pocket, then grabbed his phone and headed out to catch a cab. He noticed the concierge staring, disbelieving his transformation, but didn't pay her any mind.

The club was indistinguishable from a million others. The music was loud and bass-driven, the bodies were sweaty and close-packed. It was already late, and Saturday, so it was crowded and loud. Exactly what Arthur had in mind. He had a quick drink while scanning the room. He wasn't picking anybody out just yet, but getting the lay of the land. He saw a few men who would probably work. He didn't try to lie to himself about his type-he liked big guys, a bit older than him, ideally a bit on the rough side. He liked muscles, tattoos, and confidence. Arthur had no patience for teaching anybody anything, or for taking care of anybody. He wanted to be taken care of. Looking like he did, it was easy enough to make that happen, at least for a few hours at a time.

Finishing his drink, Arthur made his way to the dance floor. This was another thing his co-workers would likely find surprising-Arthur loved to dance. He had even taken dancing lessons as a child, until his father decided he was too old to be so "queer" and switched him to martial arts training. He liked the energy burn of dancing, liked how it got him out of his own head. It wasn't so good as sex, or as a fight, but it was on that same path.

Arthur moved around the room as he danced, pausing here and there to allow himself to be checked out. He made significant eye contact with one big, dark-skinned man, but the man had a very young blonde boy hanging off him, and Arthur wanted no part of whatever drama was going to inevitably happen there. He danced briefly with a medium-built sandy-haired man, but he was handsy in a way that didn't feel like it would end anywhere good, so Arthur moved on. He knew what he liked, and he was typically patient enough to wait for it. On the occasions when he hadn't been patient, he had usually been disappointed.

Arthur had been dancing for maybe thirty minutes when he felt a body behind him, pushing in close. He was slicked with sweat from the hot room and his own exertion, his t-shirt sticking to his torso. He didn't pause, but moved back slightly against the stranger, feeling his way. The body behind his was big and solid, not much taller than he was, but broadly built. He leaned his back into a thick chest, and the hand the was soon lightly touching his hip was wide and hot. Tilting his head back toward the shoulder he knew would catch it, Arthur inhaled and was struck by something familiar. This man smelled like something Arthur knew. Smoke and salt and musky cologne. He couldn't place it right away, but the effect was an instant stirring in his groin. Whatever it was, his body recognized it, even if his memory hadn't caught up.

It took only a few seconds for it all to become clear. As the big hand pulled him back just a bit closer, a familiar voice trickled, honey thick, into Arthur's ear. "Didn't expect to meet you here."

 _Eames._

Shocked, Arthur was suddenly stock still among all the dancing bodies. Eames stilled behind him, but didn't back away or move his hand. Instead, he leaned forward again, his lips only an inch away from the curls of hair around Arthur's ears, his breath hot against Arthur's neck. "Don't stop on my account. You were so lovely."

Arthur felt the heat run through him, suddenly hyper aware of the hand on his hip, of the body he was still leaning against, and, most of all, of that voice. He swallowed hard. "Eames, what are you doing here?" His mouth was dry, his voice louder than he'd intended. He felt stupid standing still in the middle of the dance floor, and people were starting to look at them, but he wasn't sure what else to do.

"Same thing you are, I'd imagine," Eames chuckled. He moved his hand of Arthur's hip and ran it up the side of his sweaty t-shirt. "Though likely not as well. How is it you haven't been dragged out of here yet?"

Arthur knew he was blushing-he could feel it in his ears. He hoped the light was dim enough to cover it. "I'm particular," he huffed, still without the wherewithal to pull away.

He felt Eames laugh, though he didn't hear it. "Why am I not surprised?" As the music changed, Eames returned his hand to Arthur's hip, and put the other one on the other side, curving over his hipbone and onto his navel. "Why don't you stay where you are, darling?" Eames moved slowly behind him, more slowly than the music called for. "I think you want to."

He did want to. Arthur's skin felt hot and tight, and the feeling of Eames' body behind him was exactly the one he'd been craving. He closed his eyes and leaned back so that he could lower his voice, but Eames could still hear him speak. "I don't mix work and pleasure, Eames."

"I don't see anybody working here, love." Eames tightened his grip, slotting Arthur's narrow back against his chest and moving his mouth even closer to Arthur's ear, so that his lips brushed it as he spoke. "But I see the potential for all kinds of pleasure."

It was so perfectly smarmy, and every word was going straight to his cock. Arthur inhaled. How could he even be considering this? Eames seemed to take his pause for consent, splaying his big hands further across Arthur's hips and grinding slowly against him. Arthur responded by instinct, pushing back just a bit. Eames chuckled.

They danced a few minutes, progressively closer. Eames was quiet, and Arthur wondered if he was waiting for him to bolt. He was surprised to realize it, but he wasn't going to. He leaned back bending his head so he could see some of Eames' face. "You know I'm not drunk right now, right?"

Eames smiled. "Didn't think you were."

"I'm just blowing off steam."

"I don't need an explanation."

"Fine."

Eames wrapped both arms all the way around him now, pulling him in as tight as possible. "Wipe that snarl off your face, darling. This is going to be fun." Eames lips were on his ear again, the tip of his tongue out a bit to run along the shell.

Arthur shivered. "We'll see."

"Now now," Eames ground against him harder, making sure his hardening cock was unmistakable against Arthur's ass. "Trust me."

Arthur didn't think too hard about what that meant. He decided to just let it happen. Moving his hips a bit more forcefully, he reached behind him and grabbed Eames' thigh, using it to pull him closer and grinding back against him hard. "Fine," he said this time in a breathy voice completely unlike the one Eames would expect. "Show me your fun."

Arthur let Eames steer his still gyrating body toward the edge of the floor. When he finally turned to look at him full on, he was shocked to see Eames' appearance was just as changed as his own. The sleazy ex-pat wear was gone, replaced by jeans and a white button down, tight across his shoulders and unbuttoned a bit more than was probably decent. The ink around his collarbones stood in sharp, black relief to the open white collar. Eames' hair wasn't smoothed back, but tousled. Eames noticed Arthur taking him in and tilted his head. "See something you want?" It should have sounded like his usual teasing, but it didn't. The playful edge was gone. There was no mistaking this for an attempt at irritation.

"Yes." Arthur decided right then that he'd play this just like he would with anybody else he let pick him up and worry about the consequences later. He licked his lips and looked up through his eyelashes. "Can I have it?"

Eames smiled wide. "I don't know. Do you deserve it?"

Internally, Arthur rolled his eyes. Externally, he reached out a hand and ran it down Eames' chest, over the sweat-damp white shirt. He noticed the muscles flexing under his fingers, and wanted to explore them further, but didn't linger. "I think you know I do." He let the hand trail all the way to the waistband of Eames' jeans, flicking the button with his thumb, then stopped.

Eames groaned softly. "So tell me, Arthur, what point are we at right now, for you? Is this a "buy you a few drinks" situation, or a "drag you to the toilets" situation, or a "take you back to mine" situation? Because I can play it any way you want, but you may as well let me know what you've got in mind."

Arthur was slightly put off by the question. Trust Eames to take the magic of not having to make decisions away from him. Maybe this was a worse idea than he thought. Still, he'd already gone this far, and if nothing else, Eames looked amazing. "This is a figure it out yourself, I'm off the clock situation." He met Eames' eyes steadily.

Eames' smile turned sly then, catching on. "Why Arthur, you do surprise me." He moved closer, sticking one hand in Arthur's back pocket and squeezing, crowding into him so his face was very close. Arthur could smell mint and whiskey on his breath. "Let's go, then."

On the street, waiting for a taxi, Eames was all over Arthur. His hands ran up his t-shirt covered ribs, then back down, rucking up the edge of the shirt and running his thumb around the bare skin at Arthur's waist. He squeezed his ass through his jeans, ran one hand through his curling hair. Arthur relaxed into the sensations, eventually wrapping one arm around Eames' thick neck to balance himself as he was being pawed.

In the cab, Eames shot him looks that conducted electricity. He kept his hands to himself, but stared as if he were memorizing the sight. "Do you always look like this when you're not working?" he finally asked.

Again, Arthur felt doubts niggling at him. This was so far beyond the rules. But he wasn't ever one to back down on something he'd begun. "No talking about work," he said, his voice the firm, tense tone Eames recognized. Then he changed his tone abruptly, making his voice lower and slower. "I thought you said this was going to be fun?"

Eames laughed and nodded, then reached one hand over and settled it on Arthur's leg midway between his hip and his knee. It wasn't so far up as to be indecent, but it made its meaning clear. "Oh Arthur," he said, softly. "I had no idea."

The walk into Eames' hotel and the elevator ride to his floor were quiet and tense. Arthur wondered if Eames was second-guessing himself, too. He decided it unlikely, but appreciated that Eames had stopped feeling him up once they left the club property. He didn't mind it in that space-in fact, he liked it-but it would have made him uncomfortable here.

Once they entered the hotel room, Arthur was afraid Eames would try to treat this like a date-ask if he wanted a drink, or make conversation. He needn't have worried. As soon as the door closed, Eames spun on him, pushing him up against the closest wall and finally kissing him. There was no prelude, just soft lips with hard pressure behind them, the slight graze of sharp teeth, and then a demanding tongue.

Arthur wasn't generally a big fan of being kissed. It seemed more like a necessary step to get to the real action than anything that introduced any particular pleasure in its own right. This, though, was good. He liked the relentlessness of Eames mouth, and the thigh Eames slipped between his legs. He liked the burn of Eames' stubble on his cheeks. For a few minutes, there was nothing but sensation, and that was perfect.

When Eames finally pulled away, it was to pull Arthur's t-shirt over his head, then take a small step back to look at him. The room was dim, lit only by the bedside lamp. "Come here," Eames said, taking his hand and pulling him further into the room, closer to the light. "I want to see you."

Arthur stood, shirtless, a few feet away and let Eames look at him. He wondered idly what the other man saw. Arthur knew that he was, for a man who liked that sort of thing, built just about perfectly. His body was slim and strong, his chest nearly hairless, a sparse, dark trail from his belly button down. "Get the rest of your kit off," Eames said, his voice gravelly. "I want to see all of you."

Arthur didn't attempt to make it a show, he just stripped efficiently out of his shoes, socks, jeans, and underwear. He didn't watch Eames watch him do it, just looked back at the other man's face when he'd finished.

Eames moved toward him, walking slowly around, predatory in his gaze. He ran a hand down Arthur's bare side, over his hip, and Arthur shivered in spite of himself. "You're stunning," Eames muttered, more to himself than to Arthur. He looked almost enchanted. Then he looked up suddenly. "Are there hard lines here? If there are, you should tell me now."

Arthur hesitated. It was an unusual question for a one-night stand, though not unheard of. Pretty mannerly, actually, to have asked. He shook his head. "I can take whatever you've got," he said.

Eames' smile was all teeth now, feral. He said nothing, but picked Arthur up bodily, throwing him on the bed and then climbing on top of him. He made his greater size known as he pushed down onto Arthur, catching his mouth again and kissing him breathless while he pushed his hips insistently against Arthur's. It was inelegant, rough and somewhat uncomfortable, with the coarse fabric of Eames' jeans biting into Arthur's bare skin. It was overwhelming. It was ideal.

Arthur finally pulled his mouth away to breathe and lifted his hands from where he'd been grasping the back of Eames' shirt. "Take this off."

Eames lifted up and unbuttoned his shirt quickly, tossing it aside. Arthur reached for him instantly, running his flat palms over every inch of bare skin he could reach. Eames waited, letting him look and touch for a minute. Arthur's hands stopped at his belt. "Will you take the rest off now?" He let his voice come out shaky, as if he were unsure. With his hand only a couple of inches above the clear bulge in Eames' pants, the effect of his voice making Eames twitch was clear. _Thought so_. Arthur spoke breathlessly again. "Please?"

Eames' eyes widened as he stood, and Arthur was briefly afraid he'd say something about Arthur being out of character and spoil everything. This time, though, he showed some sense and stayed quiet. He stripped off quickly, his eyes on Arthur. Arthur made a show of watching him, letting his eyes widen just slightly when he caught sight of Eames' thick cock.

Arthur had, of course, imagined Eames naked before. You didn't work so often with someone so close your type, someone who also flirts with you shamelessly, and not wonder. The real thing, however, far exceeded Arthur's imagination. There was more ink than expected, not just on Eames' arms and chest, but running along his hips and down his thighs. His skin was darker than Arthur imagined, still shining with the sweat of the club, and the muscles that ran under it were everywhere chiseled. Arthur had known that Eames was a well-built guy, even if his clothing choices often seemed determined to hide it, but he was far more impressive naked than Arthur would have guessed. His body appeared perfectly sculpted, from the slightly bulging muscles in his neck all the way down to the clear cords of muscle running up his lower legs. "Jesus," Arthur muttered, forgetting himself for a moment, "how fucking much do you work out?"

Eames laughed. "A lot," he confirmed, taking a step back toward the bed.

"Hang on, please," Arthur raised one hand, his eyes still glued to Eames' body. "Just let me look at you another minute."

Eames laughed louder this time. "Your wish is my command, princess." He made a little affected turn, giving Arthur the full view of his back and ass, which were equally spectacular.

Arthur was vaguely aware he'd just been referred to as "princess" and should shut that down, but he didn't bother. Instead he let his hand fall, making it clear to Eames that he'd like him to return to the bed now. Grinning, Eames climbed back on, straddling Arthur so that his hips were caught between Eames' thighs, their cocks brushing together against Arthur's stomach. Arthur groaned.

"My, you are worked up," Eames mused, running a finger down Arthur's chest, making a clear and explicit path around his erection. "Been a bit, has it?"

Arthur glared, shifting his hips to search for more friction, but unable to move much with Eames' weight on him. "None of your fucking business," he gritted out.

Eames laughed again. "Better be nice to me, or I'll leave you here like this. All flushed and wanting."

Finding a bit of wiggle room, Arthur bucked up against him, forcing the friction he'd been looking for. "No you won't."

"No," Eames agreed, reaching down casually and rubbing just the tip of his thumb over the head of Arthur's leaking cock, "I won't."

Arthur shuddered and forced himself not to make a sound. He was making this too easy.

"Oh, so that's how it's going to be? Gonna make me work for it, are you?" Eames looked delighted. "OK." He raised his body up, then, and moved back, sliding down the bed so that his head was level with Arthur's cock. From close up, he looked at it, licking his lips as he did. Arthur could see his face clearly, and it was equally clear that was intentional. Eames pursed his generous lips, looking as if he was making a serious decision, and waited.

"I'm not going to beg," Arthur said, his voice still breathless, this time not purposely. He wasn't necessarily above begging in this situation, but he damn well wasn't going to do it for Eames. That was the last thing the cocky fucker needed.

Eames raised an eyebrow, but didn't move his face away. "By the time I'm done, you might," he said smoothly. He twisted his face so his stubbled cheek rubbed softly against Arthur's prick. Arthur bit his tongue to keep from moaning, curling his hand into a fist next to him on the bed. Eames chuckled, letting his breathe blow hot across Arthur's groin, then dragged just his closed lips up the underside of Arthur's cock, dry and soft.

Arthur made a frustrated noise. He was generally a fan of being teased, but he wasn't usually so worked up this quickly. Throbbing and flushed, he forced himself to stay silent and wait.

Eames played with him a little longer, touching him only very lightly with his face, his nose, his resolutely closed mouth. Then he looked up to make sure Arthur was watching and finally took his cock in one hand, holding it steady so he could rub the head over his lips, wetting them with Arthur's pre-ejaculate. He made a low noise in his throat, then chased it with his tongue, tasting Arthur off his own decadent mouth. Before Arthur could even react, Eames had taken him much of the way down his throat, all in one long, hard inhalation.

Arthur gasped and threw his head back against the head of the bed, barely noticing it bouncing off the headboard. Whatever he'd been expecting, this wasn't it. Eames sucked him down relentlessly, bracing himself over Arthur on his arms and focusing completely on the task at hand. There was no more teasing, and it was among the least gentle blowjobs Arthur had ever experienced. There had to be technique under there somewhere-it wouldn't feel so good otherwise-but the impression was one of brute force. Arthur's mind raced, fixing for a moment on the bizarre though that he might actually be being eaten alive. Before he could even giggle, though, he was spinning again, his vision spotty as the head of his cock smashed against the back of Eames' throat.

Arthur stopped trying to be quiet. "Fuck, FUCK, Eames!" He wasn't typically a yeller, but he couldn't stop himself. He thought he should ask Eames to stop, just to give him a minute to adjust, but he couldn't find the words. Instead, he panted shamelessly, letting his hips thrust up into the welcoming mouth, unworried about whether Eames could breathe.

On one thrust up, Arthur suddenly found himself held up, one of Eames' arms under him. The fast, hard rhythm on his cock hadn't changed, but Eames was holding himself up with only one arm now, the other under Arthur's body. "Up," Eames said, his mouth full. At least, that's what Arthur thought he said. He complied, letting Eames' arm help him pull himself up to his knees, the bobbing of Eames' head never stopping.

Still maintaining his cadence, Eames lifted the his hand to Arthur's mouth, slipping two fingers quickly inside. Arthur was briefly surprised, but reacted in the way he was meant to, sucking on them hard, then wrapping them with his tongue, wetting them as much as possible. When Eames pulled the spit-soaked digits from between Arthur's lips, he watched for a fascinated second, following a thin, silvery strand of spit from his mouth to Eames' knuckle. The hand quickly disappeared, though, wrapping around Arthur's waist and sliding smoothly down the crack of his ass. The two fingers were only damp by the time they reached their destination, but Eames used them anyway, circling his hole in slow circles while his mouth continued the unabating assault on Arthur's cock.

Arthur changed his hip thrusts immediately, rocking forward into Eames' mouth, then back against his fingers. Eames didn't actually put them inside, just rubbed them around, using the pad of his thumb, then returning to the fingers. Arthur moaned, low and long, pushing back more. "Go ahead," he breathed, wanting the intrusion. "I'm so close already." There was no point in pretending otherwise, he could feel his balls tightening and knew it was going to happen.

Eames didn't change course, but kept doing exactly what he had been, brushing over Arthur's hole with mostly dry fingers and swallowing his cock in hard, wet gulps. "Fuck, FUCK," Arthur panted, grabbing for his hair. "I'm gonna come." Eames waited until the last possible moment before pulling off, pushing himself up to his knees and jerking Arthur expertly through his orgasm.

Arthur watched himself spill over Eames' fist, his body rocking hard, Eames' fingers still teasing behind him. He heard himself swear and gasp, but wasn't aware of what he was saying. Finally, an instant after the friction turned from unbearably good to painful, Eames let go of his cock and let it drop. He didn't move away, though, just wrapped the hand that had been holding it, covered with come, around to Arthur's back and held him up between his arms as he ran the come-covered hand down his ass. Arthur slumped, but Eames held him against his chest, focused now on sliding a single now-wet finger inside Arthur.

"Fuck," Arthur hissed, over-sensitive and not quite expecting the finger. Eames murmured at him, but didn't stop, continuing his slow probing. Even with the come as lubricant, it was drier than Arthur would typically insist on, and it burned. After a moment, though, hazy as he was from just having come so hard, Arthur realized he was enjoying the burn.

Vaguely remembering the twitch in Eames' dick his passive, breathy twink voice had earlier elicited, and feeling particularly generous after receiving such mind-numbingly great head, Arthur spoke softly, into Eames' ear. "Are you going to fuck me dry?" His voice was just the right mix of unsure and excited, scared and brave.

"No," Eames countered, not stopping what he was doing. He was working in a second finger now, slowly, but not without significant resistance. "That would hurt."

Arthur was irritated at how calm and rational Eames sounded, while he himself was wrecked. He knew, vaguely, that he'd be angry at himself later. But in for a penny, in for a pound. He looked up at Eames through his eyelashes. "You are going to fuck me though?"

Eames shook his head in something that looked like amazement. "Yes. God yes." He lifted his chin. "Scoot." He pushed Arthur gently to indicate where he wanted him, finally removing his fingers. As Arthur backed up the bed, Eames leaned over him to jerk open a bedside drawer.

With Eames leaning over him, Arthur found himself at eye level with his navel. Quick as a cat, he darted his tongue out, tracing the line of brown hair from his belly button down.

"Ahhhh," Eames exhaled and backed up, moving himself out of reach of Arthur's mouth. "Much as I'd like that, love, this isn't going to last long that way."

It was Arthur's turn to look self-satisfied. He could fully see Eames now, and see how painfully hard he was, his cock dark and weeping at the tip. He may have been playing calm, but he wasn't. As Eames opened the bottle of lube and wet his fingers, Arthur watched him closely for other tells. He was still, his face concentrated, but his chest was flushed and his pupils wide.

Arthur spread his legs. There were, long ago, all sorts of complicated, guilty feelings about wanting this, all sorts of things to work through before he could so shamelessly open himself up like this. That had all faded away, though, and now Arthur could focus on his desires, and did. As Eames pushed the now fully-slicked fingers back into him, Arthur arched and pushed against them, relishing the burn and the stretch. "Not too much prep," he breathed, reaching again for Eames' cock. "I want to feel you."

Eames' chuckle was so low it was barely audible over Arthur's own hisses. "I promise, you'll be able to feel me." As Arthur stroked him, Eames added a third finger and scissored, using his other hand to hold Arthur's chest down where he was lifting off the bed. "Hold still."

Arthur forced himself still, focusing all his attention on the spot where Eames' fingers breached his body. He gasped as Eames pulled them farther apart, using his thumb to soothe the outside ring of flesh. "Goddamn," he breathed. "I'm ready. I'm ready."

Eames stilled his fingers, but left them inside, looking up and into Arthur's face. "What is it you're ready for, then?" He was smirking.

"Godammit, Eames," Arthur pushed up against the palm that was still on his chest. This was, he knew, about power. It was about Eames wanting him to say it. It wasn't an unusual thing, for many of the type of guys he picked up, and he typically had no problem doing it. But something about it was sticking in his craw. "You know what I want."

"I do." Eames nodded, then tilted his body so his face was close to Arthur's, his fingers still inside Arthur's body. "But I want to hear you say it." He began to move his fingers again, slowly, with far less force than before, and drew himself back up on his knees, so that his body took up Arthur's entire line of sight, but Arthur could no longer reach his dick.

Arthur looked again at him. Looked at the hard, inky plains of his chest, at his crooked-teeth smile, at the line of hair leading to his cock, and at his cock itself, which was bigger than average and pointing at him obscenely. What did it matter, really? He swallowed his pride and reminded himself that this wasn't a job, and that this wasn't weakness. "I want you to fuck me," he said, low and clear. "I want you inside me. And I want it now."

Eames smiled and pulled his fingers out unceremoniously. "OK," he said, wiping his fingers on the bedspread and reaching for the foil condom packet he'd dropped earlier. As he rolled it on, Arthur continued to stare, taking in as much of his gorgeous body as possible.

Once he was ready, Eames looked at Arthur for a moment, considering, then said, "turn over." Arthur did it immediately, resting his head and elbows on the pillows and his knees against the mattress, his ass in the air. "So lovely," Eames murmured, running his hands over Arthur's ass, then up his sides, then down again. "Spread your legs." He pushed Arthur's legs wider, enough that it was uncomfortable. "Don't hold your breath."

Just as Arthur was about to grouse that Eames didn't need to give him a primer, he'd actually done this before, Eames shoved all the way in, bottoming out in one long stroke. It was the same thing he'd done with his mouth, a sudden movement so intense that Arthur's body had no idea what it was experiencing. "FUCK," Arthur yelled, momentarily feeling only the intense burn. Before he'd finished inhaling, Eames had pulled most of the way out, grabbed his hips, and slammed home again.

For a second, Arthur was stunned by the lack of finesse. It was rare that someone who wasn't blind drunk would give a partner no time to adjust. But then the burn subsided, and he felt the rest of it. The overwhelming fullness, the unbelievable pull of the friction, and, when Eames suddenly changed his angle, the first drag of that thick cock over his prostate. Arthur's body jumped forward of its own accord, both wanting the stimulation and afraid of it. Eames was ready for him, though, and held tightly to his hips, forcing him to stay with it.

From there, it was just good. In fact, it was fucking fantastic. Arthur let everything go, until all he was was a body, moving in exactly the way Eames was instructing. Eames actually said very little, but his hands and legs and arms made it clear where Arthur was supposed to go and when, and Arthur did just that. He didn't think, and his sensations were generalized, now, so that he wasn't sure where the burn of his stretched thighs stopped and the burn of his stretched asshole began, or whether the frissons of pleasure running through him came from Eames' cock, buried inside him, or from his own hand, which Eames had grabbed and put on his dick. Though he'd come already, Arthur was half-hard again, and he stroked himself awkwardly as Eames continued his bruising thrusts.

As he got close to his orgasm, Eames started to talk more. "Jesus Christ, so bloody gorgeous" and "fuck, so tight, so hot" and "always wondered, had no fuckin' idea." Arthur wasn't really listening, his ears full of rushing blood and the slap of Eames' body against his. When Eames finally came, groaning and clenching his fingers hard into Arthur's shaking thighs, Arthur closed his eyes and rocked back into him, taking over the rhythm to pull him through it. After Eames stopped shuddering, Arthur let his body drop forward, the exhausted muscles in his legs screaming. Eames made an indistinct and displeased noise as Arthur's body pulled away from him, but didn't follow, rolling instead onto his back next to Arthur.

For several moments, neither of them moved, both breathing hard. Arthur was aware of the motion of Eames taking off the condom, tying it, throwing it somewhere. Then Eames was up on one elbow, peering into Arthur's face. Even though his eyes were closed, Arthur knew he was there. "Can I help you?" he asked, opening one eye and glaring.

Eames grinned wildly, then barked laughter. "Can you help me? Oh Jesus, Arthur." He was giddy. Reaching out, he palmed Arthur's cock, still half-hard. "Shall I help you?" He was still laughing.

Arthur pushed his hand playfully away. "Give me a fucking minute," he said. His voice didn't sound nearly so grouchy as he'd intended. He didn't feel grouchy, either. He felt light, tired and sore and fucked out. He felt happy. He looked up again at Eames' face. "You're going to make me talk about this, aren't you?"

Eames' grin only got wider. "I am, darling. But don't worry-I'm not going to make you do it tonight." He returned his hand to Arthur's body, keeping it away from his cock for now, but tracing his ribs, dipping his thumb into Arthur's belly button. "There are other things to do tonight."

Arthur groaned aloud at the cheesiness, and Eames only smiled harder. He was sure, once the sex wore off, he'd be furious at himself for breaking such a simple rule, a rule with such clear necessity. But since he was going to be furious anyway, he may as well enjoy it.


End file.
